


Blood Pact

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blood, F/F, Gen, Murder, No Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A string of grisly murders and a chain of impossible bank robberies hit London just as Nellie goes missing. Can Jenny and Vastra solve all three mysteries, or have our heroines finally hit their breaking point?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Pact

“Lovely spring afternoon, eh, madame?” Jenny observes from their porch. 

“Most definitely, my sweet,” Vastra replies. It has been a long winter, and the sunlight is exceedingly pleasant on her scales, even through the necessary layers of cloth.

“Fancy a picnic lunch in the park?” 

“A truly divine suggestion,” Vastra opines, and she goes to fetch a blanket to lie on and the books they are reading as Jenny packs them a basket. Yes, she thinks as she meets Jenny in the kitchen, a lazy afternoon sounds perfect. 

No sooner has she completed the thought than Henry, Anaya, and Doyle burst into the room within moments of each other. By the time the door swings shut behind Doyle, Henry has caught his breath. “It's Nellie—she's gone missing,” he blurts. 

Vastra blinks. No such thing as an afternoon off for England's most famous consulting detectives. She looks at Anaya's concerned face. “I take it you have some different news, child?”

“Been keeping an ear open around Scotland Yard, like you asked, madame. Seems they've got a string of bank robberies they can't quite crack.”

“That should handle this month's expenses,” Jenny says with a hunter's grin, which droops when she sees that Doyle is still nervous. “Another case?”

“You did ask me to keep an eye out for unusual deaths,” Doyle reminded them. “While I doubt they are the Dalek's work, there have been several corpses found with their throats slit, drained of blood. All within the past few weeks.”

Jenny tries not to look too amused at Vastra's growing frustration. “When it rains, it pours?” 

“Alas, I had hoped that today we might enjoy the sunshine.” Vastra draws herself back up into her usual, dignified posture. “Still, adventure calls and duty beckons.”

“If I might suggest a compromise, madame? They could tell us more over a picnic lunch.” Jenny tries not to look too hungry, or too put out that her preparations might go to waste. She does love Vastra dearly, but sometimes madame can get a bit distracted.

“Excellent thought, Jenny.” She beams at the praise, makes up another batch of sandwiches, and adds some more fruit to the basket.

***

“Now, Doctor Doyle, you were saying something about murder?” Vastra asks, intrigued. At least she waited until we had finished eating, Henry thinks. Lord only knew he liked a bit of blood and guts as much as any lad, but not over tea. Indeed, he used to love reading through penny-dreadfuls, but now they seemed terribly dull after so many real adventures. 

“Yes,” Doyle confirmed. “Seven bodies, all male, over the past three weeks. All with slit throats, all drained of blood, none with anywhere near that amount of blood found at the crime scene. But all apparently done at night, and all the bodies found in one neighborhood.”

Vastra lies back on the blanket and thinks as the sun beats down on her. Some primal urge wells up, demanding that she tear off these strange clothes and find a warm boulder to sprawl across while she digests her meal in tongue-flicking bliss. Jenny might be amused, she thinks idly. But it would not go well, she decides, relishing the warmth of Jenny's lap as the maid cradles her head in her hands. “Most intriguing, Doyle. I cannot help but wonder if the victims were killed elsewhere and deposited after they were exsanguinated, or if our killer took the blood with him for some reason. Perhaps you and Jenny would be so good as to look into that matter. Now, about those bank robberies?”

“What about Nellie?” Henry interrupts.

“It is most annoying that she has gone missing at a time when two serious strings of crimes have landed upon our doorstep. However, I am quite confident that Nellie is capable of looking after herself.”

“I can't believe that you're going to put more effort into taking care of some dumb bank than finding your missing friend!” Henry shouts, and stands as if to leave just as Jenny shoots Vastra a look.

“However,” Vastra amends, “I am more than willing to listen to your genuine concerns. And, indeed, it may be appropriate for you and Anaya to gain some investigative practice. I appear to have forgotten my own advice: facts first, and then theories. Please, allow me to listen first to Anaya and then to your story, and when we have all finished, we may proceed most wisely. Until then, I can neither prioritize nor analyze.” Henry takes a deep breath, then sits. Vastra coughs; sometimes she forgets how...hot-blooded...apes can truly be. “Pray, Anaya, continue.”

“Three bank robberies in three weeks. No leads, no evidence. Three different banks, all at night. Nobody has seen a thing.” Anaya grins. “Not too much taken, but all the banks in the city are going bonkers.”

“Unusual indeed.” Vastra sits up and strokes Jenny's hair. “And what of Nellie, Henry?”

“I haven't seen her in almost six months. Not since just before your adventure with the Gelth and Mademoiselle Mirabelle. And her family hasn't either. Not her parents, not her brother, not her sister. None of the Catholic churches in town either; I asked all the priests.” 

“Might she have left for a reason?” Jenny asks. 

“She never said anything about plans to anyone. She had been seeing a bloke, but they split up a ways back, before she disappeared. Her family says she hadn't been seeing anyone else.”

“Kidnapped, then, or murdered? Though I hate to say it, crimes of passion are quite common.” Vastra frowns.

Henry shakes his head. “I've checked him out. Sleazy, but not the violent type.”

“And I would know if she turned up in the morgue,” Doyle adds. “Or in the hospitals, for that matter. My contacts there are very good, and her face is known to every doctor in London the way you have her poking around.”

“What if someone's coming after us?” Anaya volunteers. “We've probably made some enemies.”

“In that case we are all bait in our own traps,” Vastra proclaims. “And we must be ready to spring.” She mulls over the fresh information. The bank robber may be someone invisible to human senses, making her and Strax the obvious choices to investigate that case. The murderer is evidently capable of great violence, meaning that Jenny, their best remaining fighter, must be assigned to that case, and Doyle's medical background would appear to be an asset as well. That leaves Henry and Anaya to hunt for Nellie, for her case seems more worrisome by the moment. “Anaya, may Jenny and I speak to you privately for a moment?” Anaya nods, and the three women draw themselves apart. “I must admit that I am still a novice when it comes to ascertaining the emotional status of humans—most of them, at least,” she corrects with a fond squeeze of Jenny's hand. “But am I correct to say that Henry fancies Nellie?”

Anaya nods. “I think so.”

“And do you still fancy him?”

Anaya blushes. “Not as much as I used to.”

“How's Mirabelle treating you, then?” Jenny asks Anaya turns an even deeper shade of crimson. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry.”

“We're quite well, thank you,” Anaya says composedly. They aren't going to suggest a lesbian double-date, are they, she wonders? While that might be fun, they are her employers, and, well, things could get complicated. She really hopes they aren't suggesting a swap of some sort.

“You were right, then,” Vastra says with a hiss, and Jenny tries not to gloat. She is, after all, still better at the nuances of reading folks, though her lover is gaining on her rapidly. “Will you be able to look for Nellie with a clear mind?”

“Yes, I think so,” Anaya says confidently. “We're friends, but I'm not trying to win her hand like a noble knight.”

“She is pretty, isn't she?” Jenny asks, trying rather cheekily to goad either of the others.

“Wretched tease,” Vastra laughs. “Very well. I presume Henry will be most unhappy if we ask him to do anything but look for Nellie; will you make certain he doesn't do anything too rash?”

“I can try,” Anaya promises.

***

“Clean cuts along the necks,” Doyle points out. “And some indications of rope at the ankles and wrists. Don't seem to have put up much of a fight, however.”

Jenny nods, jotting down notes. “Nice big burly blokes, too.” She takes out a compact scanner and runs it over the most recent victim. “Oh ho, traces of temporal energy,” she observes. “Nice hunch,” she adds, knowing how much she thrives on madame's praise. She isn't sure if the fact that she is younger, less experienced, and female changes Doyle's view of the matter, but that's his problem. “Nothing else though.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Jenny sighs. “Your guess is as good as mine. But my guess? A time-traveling, blood-drinking alien with technology we can't detect—or razor-sharp claws.”

“Charming.” Doyle rubs his forehead. “You aren't going to suggest that we go after your alien vampire, are you?”

“What neighborhood did you say they were found in?” Jenny asks as though he had said nothing, though her smile lets him know that she heard him. Doyle sighs. Time to burn more of the midnight oil. One of these days he'll be dignified and middle-aged and proper and settled down to family life, he promises himself. He can write stories and practice medicine and spend time with his wife. Which reminds him: Louisa is expecting. Well then, he thinks. No time like the present to get one last adventure in.

***

Vastra strides into the last bank, Strax flanking her. “Just the two of you?” asks the bank manager, a tall, portly man named Worthington. “I would have thought the unsolvable robberies of three of the finest banks in London would have demanded the whole of the Veiled Detective's resources.

“You are aware, I hope, of a string of murders—all of powerfully built men, I might add—under mysterious circumstances,” Vastra points out icily. 

Worthington gulps and readjusts his tie. “I'll just detail the security measures of our bank, then.” Vastra merely smiles toothily and listens to more of the same: locked vaults, guard schedules, and the like. All of it seems quite in line with the other banks' defenses, but no obvious faults appear. Nothing she and Jenny couldn't break into if they put their minds to it, of course. (One or two cases have required them to stray somewhat past the strict bounds of the law; Vastra wonders how much Doyle knows.) But certainly it should withstand infiltration by run-of-the-mill lawbreakers—not that these are ordinary robbers, judging by the energy signatures found at the crime scenes. Well, there is nothing for it but to watch, and wait patiently for someone to try to break into the likeliest remaining bank.

***

“Sorry,” says the shopkeeper, shaking his head at the photograph of Nellie. “Haven't seen her in months.” 

“Thanks anyway,” Anaya thanks him. Henry, apparently, has used up most of his share of politeness, and stands, arms crossed, at the door, looking down the street as though Nellie will appear there by magic. “No luck,” she tells him.

Henry shakes his head. “She's got to be here somewhere—we've checked all the docks, the cabbies, the trains.”

“She might have taken a private carriage, or stowed away on a train or a ship,” she points out.

“Who does Nellie know who owns a private carriage?”

“Who does Nellie know outside of London?” Anaya counters. “Anyway, I'm famished.”

“Want to get a bite together?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I've got plans. Actually, I'm going to be late if I don't hurry—I've left it late enough as it is.”

Bother, Henry thinks as Anaya retreats into the crowd. Still, he's no use to Nellie—or anyone else—as an emaciated skeleton.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Anaya says as she joins Mirabelle at her table.

“Pretty fine looking yourself,” Mirabelle replies.

Anaya rolls her eyes. “Don't flatter me—I've been out combing the city for clues all day.”

“Oh?” Mirabelle raises an eyebrow, even as she picks out a bottle of wine.

“Friend of mine went missing, a girl, Nellie.” 

“She pretty?” Mirabelle asks with a sly grin.

“Don't think she's interested,” Anaya replies, sliding her the picture. “You haven't seen her, have you?”

Mirabelle shakes her head. “I've been so busy converting the old place into a salon—I've barely seen the light of day.”

“Is that what you're planning on doing with it?”

Mirabelle grinned. “More or less. Style some hair, massage some backs, sell food, cultivate a distinguished ambiance.” She grins and adopts an aristocratic pose. “It certainly doesn't hurt that the name Mademoiselle Mirabelle is already linked with the rich and famous.”

Anaya laughs. “Oh, that's brilliant.”

“After all,” Mirabelle continues, “Everyone needs to relax here and there; work isn't everything, no matter how valuable.”

Anaya nods. “I think we forget that.” She sighs. “Of course, sometimes the work is finding your missing friend.” 

***

“Good evening,” Jenny greets the widow of one of the dead men. “We're investigating the death of James Tucker, your late husband.”

The woman spits at the ground. “When you find who did it, let me know. I'd like to buy him flowers.”

Doyle raises an eyebrow. Too obvious to be a suspect, but perhaps the man had other enemies. “I take it there was no love lost between you two?”

“Threw him out of the house last week when he raised a hand to me. Temper like a lion, that one. Always getting into fights, and then into jail. You want a list of suspects, start with everyone who knew him.” She laughs mirthlessly. “You don't mind, I've got mouths to feed. Good evening.”

“You know, very few tears have been shed over our victims so far,” Doyle notes. “And all in the same neighborhood.”

“You don't think it's some sort of revenge conspiracy. I'll do your husband if you do my brother?” Jenny asks. 

“An interesting thought, but it doesn't match with the scientific evidence. All of the killings have been extremely similar in method; it's unlikely that different killers could have produced such slavish imitations.”

Jenny nods. “Suppose you're right. Still, not a bad idea to keep in mind if something like this crops up again. Which it likely will—only so many ways out of a bad mess.”

“I suppose you are right,” Doyle admits.

***

“You alright, squirt?” Bert asks. “Not seeing as much of that winning smile of yours around.”

“Been busy, is all,” Henry replies.

“Sure,” Bert says, over an unlikely glare from Moses. He thinks his kid brother looks like he's been kicked in the teeth, but that's his business. He'll talk if and when he wants, Bert reckons. He didn't ask about Henry's scars, or his work, or his love life, if he even had one. Didn't think it was his place to pry, necessarily, though he was the closest thing Henry had to a father. Would he have wanted someone to ask, when he was Henry's age? Looking back, anyway—he certainly wouldn't have appreciated the meddling at the time. But now? He sighs and watches Henry eat a hurried meal before dashing off again.

***

Vastra and Strax have been staking out the bank for the past three nights; Jenny has been using Doyle as bait while she surreptitiously patrols the neighborhood in question for the same three nights. “Didn't realize how much this was going to affect our sleeping habits,” Jenny says, dropping into bed beside Vastra at an ungodly hour. “Or our love life.” 

“There is no reason that we cannot have a tryst during the day,” Vastra observes, slipping one hand around her beloved.

“As long as we can arrange it so that Strax, Anaya, Henry, and Dr. Doyle are all out of the house. And that we don't get any visits from a new client or Scotland Yard. Or that the Doctor wouldn't barge in.”

“My dear, I do not think one can ever guarantee that the Doctor will not barge in; indeed, it is his stock in trade.” The two women share a comfortable laugh. “Have you discovered anything of note?”

“Nothing new, no.” Jenny yawns. “And you?”

“No.” Vastra sighs. “It is a very odd business: one time-traveler committing murders without alien technology at the same time as an alien who commits bank robberies without traveling in time.”

“You don't think they are connected, do you? Or to Nellie's disappearance?” Henry and Anaya check in periodically, but there was much of London to search and many possible leads to follow.

Vastra shakes her head. “We have had two or three cases at once before, and rarely were they linked. I suspect this is more of the same—another day, another mystery to solve. Still, there is something troubling me about the entire matter, though I cannot place it. Perhaps you have the right of it. Come, we need our sleep.”

“Do we need it immediately, madame?” Jenny asks, voice coy.

Vastra's tongue darts out as she presses in to kiss Jenny. “Perhaps not,” she allows as she curls around the younger woman.

***

The next night promises to be more of the same. “I do hope Jenny is safe,” Vastra whispers with a touch of a pout.

“Fear not, madame!” Strax says in his quietest bellow, which is actually quite discreet. He has been practicing, and he knows it shows.“You did train the boy, did you not?” He decides not to say anything about dying gloriously in combat as this generally provokes an angry response. Even Sontarans know when not to engage a foe.

“I do dearly hope so,” Vastra whispers. As she finishes, there is the faintest sound, then a meaty thud. “One of the guards,” she hisses, and trains her scanner in the general direction of the noise. A sleek shadow draws closer, and Vastra and Strax spring their trap, chasing after the slender, dark figure.

***

Not terribly far away, Jenny keeps a careful eye on Doyle while the other scans the alleys and crawlspaces for movement, ears tuned for suspicious noises. Her ears prick up as she hears motion inside what appears to be an abandoned home. She signals to Doyle, who nods and reaches for the revolver he has tucked in his pocket. She doesn't usually favor guns, but if she is going to ask Doyle to put himself in harm's way, she can hardly tell him not to try to protect himself. 

Breathless, she picks the lock as quietly as she can, then they burst in to see a small figure crouched over a larger one. The bent form yelps and sprints away with Jenny in hot pursuit. Doyle fires a warning shot before stopping to examine the body. In the muzzle flash, Jenny thinks she can see feminine features. Well, she thinks, apparently they no longer have the monopoly on young women running around London's smoky streets. At least most people are (quite sensibly) in bed, making the pursuit easier than it might be. Not that Jenny minds a difficult pursuit; on the contrary, it makes the capture all the sweeter. This girl is in good shape, but it's clear she's not as familiar with the twists and turns as she might be, and Jenny keeps pace easily, waiting for her to tire, hoping she'll lead her all the way back to her lair. 

Up ahead she hears the pounding of footfalls, and hopes they get out of the way.

***

Vastra leaves Strax in the dust—his stubby legs are built for marching and advancing implacably, not hunting and sprinting. Her quarry is impressive, she must admit, but she can keep up with a bit of effort. She peers ahead through the darkness; there is clearly motion coming towards them. Goddess, is that Jenny?

Hunters and hunted alike pause in the light of the moon. Jenny has the presence of mind to whip out a scanner and flash it over the two strangers—both female, as they can now see. One younger, shorter with soft, Asiatic features and a dancer's build; one older, taller, Caucasian, with just a trace of white in her dark hair and strong, lean cheekbones. Both extremely pretty in very different ways, both Vastra and Jenny can't help but notice. Likewise, the look of concern on each woman's face is unmistakeable. They are startled by their interrupted chase just long enough for the elder woman to produce a strange device from her sleeve which causes a flash of light, blinding both Jenny and Vastra. By the time the two detectives recover, they are alone except for Doyle and Strax gamely catching up.

***

“I must say,” Vastra observes over a late dinner (or was it lunch?), “I was not expecting that.”

“I would brag about the two crimes being connected, except that it was a complete guess,” Jenny says good-naturedly. 

“Well, that,” Vastra says. “But mainly given how rare female-perpetrated violence is, particularly on strangers for no apparent gain.”

“I would say that my girl didn't look like the type, but she had very faint traces of temporal energy, and, well,” Jenny concludes, gesturing to herself. That garners a laugh from Vastra just as two cloaked figures appear at the other end of the dining room.

“Hello again,” Vastra says coolly. “Our recent acquaintances, I take it? Please, sit.”

“I told you she'd understand,” the younger woman whispers.

“Would you dim the lights?” the older woman asks, ignoring her partner. “My kind is rather sensitive.”

“Of course,” Vastra replies, and Jenny lowers the gas. There is still enough to see the same faces from last night as the two women lower their hoods. “I do not believe I have the pleasure of your names.”

“Call me Carmilla,” the elder stranger says at last.

A glimpse of a smile passes between Vastra and Jenny. “We've read Le Fanu's book, same as you,” Jenny says. “Your real name?”

“I suspected as much; really you can hardly have not,” the elder woman replies. “Though it may as well be my real name as Countess Bathory, or any of the countless goddesses of death and the night which I have had a hand in inspiring.”

“Very well,” Vastra concedes. “And your?...” 

“Friend, lover, and accomplice,” the younger woman completes. “Kaida.” She takes a deep breath. “It was my idea to come here, so I suppose I should start.”

“We're all ears,” says Jenny, glazing over the fact that technically speaking, Vastra doesn't have external ears (though her head-ridges, she once explained, help gather and amplify sound and other vibrations).

“I'm from the future,” Kaida begins. “Last time I checked, it was 2011, the center of Tokyo. I had just stepped out of the shower and pulled on my robe when a blinding white light shone around me.” Vastra and Jenny exchanged knowing looks: the time tunneler again?

“That's when I found her,” Carmilla explains. “I had just arrived in London myself—it doesn't do to stay in one place for too long. I was certainly surprised—lunch doesn't usually fall into my lap.” One hand unconsciously strays to grasp one of Kaida's. “But as you can see, I did not eat her. I must admit, I was intrigued by the way she stared, fascinated, at my fangs.”

“What can I say?” Kaida says with a laugh. “Vampires are brilliantly cool, and there hardly seemed like much use to run or fight.”

“What next?” Vastra prompts. “I assume you want our help?” The two newcomers nod. “We always insist that our clients disclose every detail.”

Carmilla shrugs. “I am a vampire; I must have blood to live. Clever Kaida proposed our current scheme. I hypnotize the guards and steal money so she can eat.”

“Working as a clerk for the local magistrate doesn't pay as well as it might,” Kaida explains. “That's how I picked my victims—crooks, thugs, wife-beaters. People who wouldn't be missed, who would be better off gone.” She smiles, somewhat flustered. “I'm stronger than I look, and chloroform is cheap,” she explained; Vastra and Jenny weren't surprised. “We figured that a slit throat was harder to pinpoint than the usual bite-marks.”

“So many people who get excited over a vampire,” Carmilla continues. “Amateurs with garlic and wooden stakes everywhere. Very...inconvenient.”

“I heard about the two of you, at the magistrate's office. The former circus attraction and ladies' maid turned detectives. And, some of the spicier rumors hinted, lovers,” Kaida says, looking back at Carmilla. 

“I recognized you as a Silurian at once from your description,” Carmilla adds. “Those scales of yours can be very frustrating.” Vastra coughs and Carmilla apologizes.

“So we thought you might understand us: two pairs of bloodthirsty lesbian vigilantes. And that you could help us,” Kaida pleads.

“Perhaps you misunderstand our profession.” Vastra's voice is chilly. “We tend to apprehend murderers and robbers, not shelter them from the law.”

“Are we just another case for you? I struggle to see how you can defend a society which would hunt you like dogs if it knew who you truly were,” Carmilla counters. Both Vastra and Jenny are taken aback by the words.

“Because I have been the hunter,” Vastra explains at last. “And I would prefer not to be the prey.” She takes Jenny by the hand. “Our time together is likely to be short enough as it is; I prefer it to remain peaceful for as long as possible.”

“Doesn't the running tire you?” Jenny asks. “Never knowing where you'll spend tomorrow? I got kicked out of my home when I was a girl for being who I was. If I have to hide myself a little bit in public so I can dance with madame in private, well, I can live with that.”

Kaida and Carmilla exchange thoughtful looks at this insight. “That does have a certain appeal,” Carmilla admits.

“Doesn't it?” Kaida adds, latching onto her arm.

“You will, of course, need to do some penance for your crimes,” Vastra offers gently.

Carmilla hisses. “You know a prison sentence is a death sentence for one like me.”

“Pick a city, any city,” Vastra says. “We have contacts with most of the morgues of the major cities of Europe which may be able to assist with your...dietary needs. Do for that city what we do for London.”

“I hear Paris is nice this time of year,” Jenny offers. Her eyes light up. “Madame, can we go to Paris?”

“Perhaps,” Vastra says with a grin as Carmilla and Kaida mull over their options.

“I speak a little French,” Kaida offers. “Paris?”

“Paris,” Carmilla grants. “Thank you,” she says, at last, to Vastra and Jenny. She must admit that she was not sure what would happen when she agreed to Kaida's plan, to seek help from these unlikely strangers. She had, indeed, thought that there was a very high chance of everything ending in a bloodbath (and not the sexy, languorous kind either). But perhaps, even then, even before she was willing to admit it to herself, she was tired of running and hiding in the shadows. Thousands of lonely years will do that, she supposes. And now that she has someone to share them with, she might well relish the chance to stand still. 

As for Kaida, the past few weeks have seemed like one prolonged, lurid fever dream, with one long, bloody, sexy night stretching into the next. And to cap it all off by moving to Paris? If one had to be permanently separated from one's family and friends, then this was one of the better ways of doing it.

***

Once the vampire and her lover have stolen back into the night, Jenny lets out a long breath and sags back into her chair. “I did not think you would be so worried,” Vastra says with a wink. “We certainly could have handled them.” She twirls her knife to punctuate her point. 

“It's stake, not steak knife, madame,” Jenny laughs. That's alright, Vastra thinks, I was bluffing anyway. “I wasn't worried about the two of us losing a fight. I was rather worried that we would have to fight.”

Vastra nods. “We did find ourselves in quite the quandary.”

“Do you think we did the right thing?”

Vastra mulls this over. It is a tricky proposition for one who spent her youth learning the art of war and then the arts of logic and deduction. “At times, Jenny, I wish for the easy burden of the lawman, who sees his duty written in the books, and must follow at his peril. And yet I am invariably glad that I am under no such compulsion, and may follow my heart. This, I think, is one of those times.”

“Well, if there are a string of bloody murders in Paris, we know where to look,” Jenny says with a wry grin.

“You are not convinced, I can tell,” Vastra says. “Perhaps we can pay them a visit.”

“I think I'd like that—a short break might do us good.” Jenny closes her eyes and dreams of springtime in Paris. “And then I suppose we should get back to scouring the city—seems we've got a missing associate to go with our missing Dalek.”

Vastra bobs her head vigorously. “I shall be much happier when we have tracked each of them down. It is perhaps not ideal that we rely so heavily on our young ones to be our moral compass, but all the same I should like to have it in working order.”

“And Nellie in particular, madame,” Jenny says, frowning. “She's always so excited by things. Makes me remember that we can do good apart from just killing things that cause trouble.”

***

Two weeks later, four women sip hot chocolate beneath the Eiffel Tower. The recently completed radio tower hardly draws a crowd, as locals and tourists alike dub it an eyesore. But for those who do not call the 1880s home, it is a chance to visit a world-famous landmark while it is new and gleaming in the moonlight.

“Strange to think that something so useful will become such a tourist attraction,” Vastra remarks.

“It's just strange to see something so old from my time as brand new,” Kaida admits. “Thank you for visiting us, by the way.”

“Settled in nice and easy, then?” Jenny asks tentatively.

“Some trepidation on the part of the morgue attendant who has become my liaison; he wanted a signed writing that I wouldn't kill him. I insisted that the contract void if he ever showed a soul.” Carmilla laughs. “You wouldn't believe the things we've run into.”

“Not a Dalek, I hope?” Vastra asks.

“Nothing so dreadful,” Carmilla assures her. “Why, have you lost one?” Her laughter stops dead as Vastra and Jenny share a deep sigh. “Great Scott!”

“Now that you mention it, perhaps we should return to London,” Vastra observes delicately.

“Thank you for the visit,” Kaida says. “We've had a lovely time.”

“I hope you weren't expecting me to repent my crimes,” Carmilla adds. “I've killed too many for that. But I can assure you I have no intention of starting again.”

“I'll make sure of that,” Kaida concludes, and somehow none of them doubt her.

“Until we meet again,” Jenny proposes, and they all drink to that.

**Author's Note:**

> Countess Bathory, of course, is said to have bathed in the blood of virgins to maintain her youthful appearance. 
> 
> Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu wrote Carmilla in 1872. It is one of the first major vampire stories, features some heavy lesbian subtext, and predates Dracula by 16 years.
> 
> The Eiffel Tower was completed in 1889, the same year as this story takes place.
> 
> The inspiration for Kaida came with the popularity of Twilight and other vampire-centric stories--a modern teen might well have a different approach to vampirism than one who isn't encountering them through a romanticized lens. She does genuinely fall in love with Carmilla, though--"cool" is all well and good for bowties, but it's not enough to make you go on a killing spree.


End file.
